


If at First You Don't Succeed, Starpiloting is Not for You

by timelordofrassilon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Finn is oblivious, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Stormpilot, and poe just can't get it right
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-13 10:45:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5704771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelordofrassilon/pseuds/timelordofrassilon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe's attempts to court Finn keep backfiring in his face, but he isn't giving up. Finn's cluelessness only adds to his charm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flyby

“ _Commander!_ ”  The reprimand sliced through the murmur of the tarmac, silencing all personnel and causing the offending pilot to miss a rung as he dismounted his x-wing.

Poe Dameron regained his footing, and stood at attention alongside his starfighter, dreading the forthcoming reprimand.  He’d been practicing his low sweeps after Finn told the fleet that the First Order tracking systems didn’t work close to terrain, and wanted to show him firsthand just how low the Resistance’s most daring pilot could go.

But Finn wasn’t topside today, one of Poe’s pit crew informed him.  The general, unfortunately, was. 

General Organa marched the length of the landing area towards him – the closer she got, the smaller he felt.  Though she barely topped 1.5 meters, Poe felt her presence loom over him.  She did not stop her approach until she was inches from his face.

Her eyes narrowed and she growled, “ _What_ do you think you’re doing, buzzing the landing pad like a neebray in heat?  Your shockwave knocked over two weeks worth of supply shipments, _and_ you scared the sithspit out of every member of my crew.”  She waved an arm behind her to indicate the gawking crowd.  “What _precisely_ are you trying to accomplish?”

Poe opened his mouth to reply, but General Organa held up a hand, silencing him, and continued.

“If you’re going to answer that, it means you had some idiotic reason to do what you did,” she jammed an accusing finger into his chestpiece.

Poe nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek so as not to show his nerves.  “Yes, general.”

“Don’t you ‘yes, general’ me, Commander.  I’m going to give you two _very good_ reasons not to do it again.”

Poe said nothing.

“Now _one_ , I’m giving you a direct order not to.  No more low flybys over my landing bay.  Or _anyone’s_ landing bay for that matter, unless it’s been decided ahead of time for tactical reasons.  Is that clear?”

Poe nodded again, sternly accepting the ruling of his commanding officer.

General Organa put her hands on her hips and stood proudly.  “Good.  That’s as much as I’d give anyone else, but I’m making a special exception this time, because you need to hear this.  _Two_ ,”

The general noticed the lack of noise around them.  She turned to address the gawking crowd on the tarmac, and raised her voice.  “Continue your work.  That’s an order. Well, _go on_!”  She shoo’d them away.

As the landing area staff and crew returned to their duties, General Organa turned back to Poe.  “Listen, Poe, fancy flying never got anyone a date.”

A few members of Poe’s pit crew, still within earshot, exchanged dubious glances.

The pilot finally spoke, “It won’t happen again, General.”

She smiled.  “You know, I’ll have to ground you from training missions temporarily, as a punishment.”  Her eyes twinkled.  “How about three days with the sanitation crew, does that sound fair to you, Commander?”

Poe beamed.  “If you insist, ma’am.”

_______________________________________________

After regaining consciousness a week ago, Finn had since dedicated all his effort to helping the Resistance.  He understood that freedom from the First Order’s galactic tyranny would not come easy, and felt that he owed them for saving his _moof_ on more than one occasion.  Usually with Poe’s help.

Finn knew how to do two things: fire a blaster and clean the hell out of a military base.  Since his first skill was not much use to the Resistance without sufficient pilot’s training, he defaulted to the latter. 

Cleaning came easy to Finn.  A good, solid reset of a room made him feel better about putting his own thoughts in place, and a firm scrub gave plenty of time to think.  Lieutenant Sull, the head of the sanitation department, had found that Finn worked best and most efficiently when left alone; out here, his only company was a brush droid and a nearby supply crate.  He didn’t mind the solitude – the events of the past few weeks were a lot to process.  Fortunately, that day’s cleaning had produced a few concrete thoughts for Finn to hold onto while the rest sorted itself out.

He missed Rey.  The First Order was a blight on the galaxy.  Something was going on with Poe.

“Thank you,” Finn mumbled to the nearest brush droid, who had just handed him a new sponge.  His peers swore the droids had no personality program, but Finn was in the habit of being polite to anything that moved on its own.  And if anyone noticed the full measure of the department’s droid population clustered around Finn’s assigned station every morning, no one said anything.

Rey’s mission to find Luke stumped Finn.  He’d heard secondhand of her pyrrhic victory.  Even some rumors that she had force-called Luke’s old lightsaber to her after Finn had been struck down by Kylo Ren’s unstable blade.

He shook his head, banishing his fuzzy memories of the battle on Starkiller Base.  To Finn, the General’s decision to send Rey and Chewbacca alone didn’t make any sense.  He was upset that he hadn’t been included—he admitted that—but wouldn’t the general want to go and retrieve Luke herself?  Should they blockade the planet with what remained of their fleet, and demand answers as to why he left his fallen apprentice to ransack half the galaxy?  Finn was sure there must be some reason, but all he could do now to help was scrub.  And scrub.  And scrub.

A brush droid nudged Finn’s hand away from the baseboard he’d been cleaning.  Finn noticed that the paint was starting to peel on the edges.  He smiled at the droid, gave it a gentle pat on the cranial dome, and moved further down to another grimy baseboard.

 A chore he’d completed a million times on Starkiller Base.

Finn felt sick at the thought of the First Order.  Stealing children, brainwashing soldiers, destroying planets, murdering billions?  And he hadn’t batted an eye until a fortnight ago.  Until they’d asked him to kill.  Until the day he met Poe.

And what was Poe on about lately?  He would laugh or smile at the oddest times.  While Finn undoubtedly enjoyed Poe’s company, he always felt like he was missing out on some inside joke.  Whatever his issue was with Finn, it didn’t help that they always seemed to be assigned the same break times and designated the same seating area during strategy meetings.  Like some higher-up was pushing them together to see how they’d react.  Finn remembered two days ago, running into Poe in the hallway.  An actual collision, sending a laundry cart full of uniforms, a rack of squeegees, and Finn himself flying.

Poe pulled Finn to his feet, apologizing, but wearing a wide grin.  “You ok, buddy?” he asked.

Finn dusted off his uniform.  “I’m— buhhh.”  Poe was straightening the uniform’s collar, and his thumb trailed a gentle caress down the side of Finn’s neck.  Finn lost all train of thought at the contact.

Poe winked.  “Yep, me too.”  He clapped Finn on the shoulder, righted the laundry cart, and continued on down the hallway, leaving Finn standing with his mouth hanging open amid the fallen squeegees.  He swore he heard Poe chuckle as he rounded the far corner.

Again, Finn shook his memories away.  That man was too damn pretty for his own good.  Finn couldn’t concentrate with Poe around, and Poe’s manic spurts of humor weren’t helping.

“These things take time,” Finn informed his brush droid.  “It takes a while to get to know someone, right?”

The droid handed him a cleaning cloth in response.

“I’m not the joke,” Finn assured the droid.  “At least, I don’t think so.  You know what this means, yeah?” he wagged a knowing finger, “Surveillance.  Just gotta spend some more time with Poe, gather more data.”

“Today’s your lucky day, then.  And tomorrow.  And the day after that.”

Finn turned in shock, to see Poe framed in the doorway, still in his orange flight suit.  He held a mop, handle-down; it’s ropey head waving like a flag on a newly claimed planet.  He was wearing that smug smile that Finn couldn’t figure out.

 _Shit_.


	2. Dirty Laundry

Finn started his scrub of the mess hall with hopes that Poe’s presence wouldn’t affect his work. 

They fell behind in their first shift.

Poe insisted on bending over the benches in the mess hall to clean under the tables, despite Finn’s reassurance that there were several easier ways to accomplish the task.  Frustrated with the inefficiency and unable to look away, Finn walked right into the supply crate, knocking it over for the third time in as many hours.

“Gotta be careful there, buddy,” Poe huffed as he excavated himself and his mop from beneath the table.  “You’ve been having some problems with that thing.”  He wiped his hands on his flightsuit as he approached Finn and the toppled crate.  “You alright?”

“Uh… a little wobbly,” Finn responded.  Poe quirked an eyebrow, and Finn clarified: “The crate.  The crate is wobbly.”  

Poe nodded in understanding and took hold of the crate.  “Mind if I take a look?”  

“No, no, no, don’t!”  Finn reached out but it was too late.  Poe had upended the crate and dumped the contents, resting it bottom-up so as to get a better look at the base.  He sat on the nearest table – the one Finn had finished cleaning moments before – and peered at the crate’s construction.

While Poe sat, elbows resting on his knees, considering the best way to stabilize the crate, Finn took the opportunity to finish mopping the rest of the mess hall.  He finished the chore in record time, forcing himself to ignore Poe’s subconscious humming.  Finn knew there was nothing wrong with the crate’s construction, but he was happy to get his work done, distraction-free, while Poe tinkered.  He glanced towards Poe, perched on a table surrounded by the littered contents of the upended crate.

Finn didn’t know how Poe intended to fix a perfectly stable crate.  Nor could he figure why Poe insisted on accompanying him through his three-day grounding for the low fly-by from yesterday.  Finn wished he had seen it, and thought about asking Poe how his flight went, but he didn’t.  He was trying to concentrate on his work.  Concentrate on anything but Poe.

Finn shook his head, refusing to dwell on these thoughts.  It was too much to figure out at once, and he was determined to take it one piece at a time.  Right now, he understood the importance of the Resistance.  He was getting the hang of his duties, learning about past skirmishes with the First Order, meeting his fellow soldiers.  He still wasn’t used to having quarters of his own.  Or possessions that weren’t standard-issue. 

He thought of Poe’s jacket.  _Maybe that’s why he’s is acting this way_ , Finn considered, recalling waking up in the medbay.

_\-------_

_Poe’s blurred face swam into focus.  He was asleep, jaw slack, leaning on his hand with his elbow propped on Finn’s medtable.  Finn, throat hoarse from days without speaking, reached up and nudged his shoulder, causing Poe to jerk awake._

_He looked around, confused for a few seconds, until he met Finn’s eyes.  “Finn?  Finn!  Oh, stars,” Poe covered his mouth with his hand, then ran to the door. “DR. KALONIA, HE’S AWAKE”.  He returned to the medtable and answered the questions that Finn couldn’t form.  “Rey’s ok, she went to find Luke.  The map worked.  You saved the galaxy, Finn.”_

_The doctor came in, turning a few dials to prop Finn comfortably in a sitting position, and handed him a ration pouch filled with water.  Finn sipped slowly under her instruction, regaining his voice as he answered her questions.  Three fingers held up.  Five.  Two.  Right hand, left hand, right foot, left foot.  Yes, he knew what planet he was on.  Yes, he knew his name._

_He glanced, unintentionally, at Poe as he answered.  Finn._

_Poe left then, but returned shortly with General Organa.  Finn thought his eyes looked red and puffy, but chalked it up to him having been asleep minutes before._

_The general thanked Finn for his bravery, made sure he was comfortable, then instructed Poe to answer any of his questions about the battle.  “Take it slowly, Poe, I mean it,” Leia told the pilot, in a distinct maternal tone.  Poe nodded.  Finn thought it_ _strange that the general would be giving medical advice._

_“So what happened?” Finn croaked._

_Poe took a deep breath, and let it out with a whoosh as he sat down next to Finn.  “Short version?  We blew it up.  When it comes to details,” Poe shrugged, “everything right now is rumors.”  His lip curled in disgust.  He was clearly displeased with the lack of concrete information.  “Rey and Chewbacca took R2-D2 and the Millennium Falcon to some ocean planet, that’s where the map led.”_

_“You got to meet Rey?  Is she ok?”_

_“Yeah, I met her.”  Poe chuckled.  “I had to teach her how to swim.”_

_Finn choked on his water, “You what?”_

_“General’s orders,” Poe confirmed, then changed topics before Finn could ask him to elaborate.  “Not a scratch on her, but you’ll need to stay planetside for a while.  That burn was no joke.”_

_Finn rotated his right shoulder.  It didn’t seem so bad, and he told Poe so._

_Poe gave him a sad smile.  “Not that one, buddy.”_

_Finn searched his fuzzy memories of the fight on Starkiller Base.  He remembered the turbulent red of Kylo Ren’s cross-hilt burying itself into his shoulder, but everything after that was a clouded mess.  He concentrated until, at once, a single sensation returned to him: cold wind in his face and a streak fire on his back._

_He twisted at the waist, feeling the taut skin across his spine.  The pain was present, but dull.  “Oh, no,” Finn whispered, looking_ _down at his medbay tunic._

_Poe’s hand was on his arm immediately.  “Are you ok?”_

_“I’m– yeah, I just… I ruined your jacket.”_

_Finn had no description for the look on Poe’s face._

\------

Since then, his behavior toward Finn had shifted.  Or, at least, Finn was noticing things about Poe that he hadn’t before.

He was kind.  He was handsome.  He was smart.  He sought out every opportunity to show Finn around the base, introducing him to crew, familiarizing him with the equipment.  But always with the air of hiding a brilliant secret, and that’s what Finn couldn’t handle.  Finn couldn’t shake his doubt that Poe was playing some sort of twisted joke.  No way could anyone be that sincere.

Finn was miserable.  Surely, Poe had better things to do than to seek him out and laugh at everything he said.  Or invade his workplace, leaving any assigned room messier than they’d found it.  Or, despite his sharpshooting, being wholly incapable of finding a damn laundry chute.

Finn twisted the grip on his drying cloth, remembering their last encounter before yesterday.  He’d found articles of Poe’s clothing in every corner of the base imaginable—how the rest of the crewmembers hadn’t noticed was a stellar miracle.  Then again, the pieces weren’t terribly large.

He’d called Poe to his quarters that night.  When Finn answered the knock at his door, Poe had the gall to stand there with his eyes twinkling, a manic grin on his face.  Finn had lost all patience by that point, though, and wordlessly handed Poe the basket of laundry before shutting the door.

He snapped out of his reverie at the sound of a vibrodrill activating.  Poe was carving something into the supply crate.  Finn threw his cloth to the ground and ran to stop him, swearing and preparing himself to ask if this was Poe’s idea of revenge for his ruined jacket.

He was interrupted by the base-wide comm system, announcing the opening of the mess hall for lunch.  Never, even under the tyranny of the First Order, had Finn gathered his supplies as fast as he did then, nearly chucking Poe down the laundry chute with the dirty rags, if only to show him where it was.  
 


	3. Comms

The Resistance base's center of operations was in the largest building on Q'Tar. Two long hallways led to the maintenance and hangar bays, and quarters were accessible through a breezeway to the south. The control room was the center of it all, the clay-colored floor sloping gently into a shallow bowl full of technical readouts, maps, and backlit displays stood out in the dim light.

Finn felt strange training at a comms station at ground level. All others communication tech he'd seen had been lowered into the deep, square pits assigned to First Order officers – boxy, black cages full of white lights, hard seating, and a shiny black ladder that rose up from the plated floor at shift changes. Even if an imperial officer decided to leave their station, there was no way to do so.

And that was the biggest difference, Finn decided, between the First Order and the Resistance. The issue of _choice_. While the Resistance base itself felt more relaxed and friendly, the inhabitants were fiercely dedicated to their cause. The First Order could arrange and organize and calculate the minutiae of any given battle plan, but they were no match for true conviction. Everyone in the Resistance felt the galaxy's need for their service, and offered their lives freely for the freedom of others.

With the _possible_ exception of Finn's assigned trainer.

His name was Lexevan. Finn was fairly certain the boy was human, but he suspected the presence of an inter-species grandparent, judging by the slit pupils and tufts of fur on his elbows. Bothan maybe? That would be the only explanation for the scraggly goatee the teen was attempting to grow. He was probably three or four years younger than Finn, but everyone at the station insisted that Lex was the go-to guy for trainees and new recruits. Lex knew _everything_ about the Resistance comm system, the rest of ground control had informed him. Finn had a sneaking suspicion they were right, but were also trying to pawn him off one someone else for a few days.

Today was a simple supply run with a few of the Resistance cargo ships. Two x-wings flew support, with Poe flying reconnaissance. With no immediate threat, most of the ground crew had taken a long lunch. Finn was using the opportunity to go over procedures again, learning everything he could about Resistance communication, eager to help in any way he could.

Lex's overdramatic sigh snapped Finn back to attention. "Look, proc says imprint, claim to register, and relay the OBP to the flight leader, got it?" Finn was doing his best to keep up, but Lexevan was throwing out terms he'd never heard – slang, technical jargon, and words he was sure were made up on the spot. Finn remembered the standard comm practices for the First Order, but he didn't remember learning them. Thinking back, he didn't remember learning anything in particular. He just _knew_.

"Okay," Finn nodded, trying to reconcile First Order standard operating procedure with what he thought was Lexevan's instructions. "Log in with the ID." Fin put his thumb up to the scanner by the screen. After a quick flash of light, it turned green. "Then voice confirmation, yeah?"

" _Yeah_ , that's what I just said," Lex scoffed, chewing one of his nails. "Weren't you listening?"

Finn took a deep breath. The boy's nasal tone and rising inflection was starting to grate. "No," he replied honestly. He was going to get this right as quickly as possible. No more Lex, no more trainee babysitter, just work and time to think.

"Focus, man!" Lex snapped, clicking his fingers in front of Finn's face. "We're being attacked! There's a battle going on; pilots are going to die!"

"What? Now?" Finn scrabbled for the flimsiplast that held the day's briefing. A mission to a neighboring planet for a supply run. Something terrible must have happened. An ambush? He scanned his thumb again, hands shaking at the thought of the First Order swooping down on an unsuspecting fleet. On Poe.

He steadied his hand and the panel turned green again. With perfect timing, he stated clearly into the attached boom "Finn logging in as Base 3."

" _COMMAND INCOMPLETE"_ the grainy vocoder beeped at him.

"Lex, what's wrong, what did I do?" Finn was all nerves. His feet twitched, making his knees bounce, and his hands drummed the table.

"First _and_ Last name, hutthead," came the response. Lex had the gall to roll his eyes. Finn wanted to rip the screen off of the control panel and throw it at him.

" _I don't HAVE ONE. My friends are in danger; WHAT DO I DO?"_

Lex shrugged, "Make one up?"

Finn gritted his teeth and scanned his thumb a third time. Voice steady, he said into his mic "Finn Dameron logging in as Base 3."

"LOGIN ACCEPTED, COMMUNICATION ESTABLISHED WITH BLACK LEADER."

Poe's call sign. Finn felt the knots in his stomach loosen slightly. At least his x-wing hadn't been destroyed. Yet.

Finn shouted into his boom mic. " _Poe, what's happening, are you ok?"_

A yell of pain came from the speaker, stuttering with the distance of the transmission.

"What's going on, BB-8, are you there? Can you hear me? Where's Poe? Uh…." Finn glanced at his trainer. Why wasn't he going for help? Did he want Finn to do this on his own? "Mission report?" Finn saw Lex confirm the phrasing with a nod and his gut sank into his boots. He'd been duped.

"I'm fine, everything's fine!" Poe's voice crackled through the speakers again. "Aside from the hearing loss, anyway. Who is this?"

Finn was livid. His cheeks flushed hot with anger and adrenaline, but his mind was clear. He knew what to do in this situation. "Base 3 to Black Leader, we've had a miscommunication at ground."

"Sounds like one hell of a mix-up. Lex getting somebody riled up again?"

Poe wasn't sticking to comm procedure, but Finn didn't care. Hearing his voice was enough. "Base 3 to Black Leader, affirmative." Finn slipped out of military mode, his fear draining away. "I'm glad you're ok. Come back safe."

Silence from the other end of the line.

"Poe?"

Poe spoke again, but not to Finn. "Computer, display current login for Base 3."

"BASE 3 CURRENT REGISTER: FINN DAMERON"

Finn went pale. He saw Lexevan bite his lip so hard his eyes began to water.

He swore he heard a chuckle on the other end of the line. Probably more static. Poe's concluding transmission came through fuzzy, barely audible. "Coming home to you, baby. Keep the light on. Black Leader out."

Finn felt _everything_. Mostly fear, relief, embarrassment, and a strong desire to kick the shit out of the scrawny kid next to him. This last emotion was exacerbated by Lex's next remark.

"Did he call you ' _baby'_?"

"'Buddy', that's what he calls everyone," Finn insisted. His heart fluttered. He'd heard it, too, but the connection had been lousy.

"Yeah, but 'leave the light on'?"

" _Maybe_ they're gonna land at _night_ , huh?" Finn spat back. Anger was fast becoming his most prevalent emotion. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Secure, if nothing else, in his knowledge that his comm procedures were flawless in a crunch.

Lex slapped his hands on his knees, pushing himself up out of his chair. "Tell you what, you forget to mention to anyone that I made it sound like we were under attack, and _I_ won't tell anyone that the Commander's crush isn't as one-sided as people think."

"Fine," Finn agreed. Anything to make him leave.

Lex nodded and waved over his shoulder as he left the station, pushing past the first few crewmembers returning from lunch.

Finn shook his head, still reeling from his rapid-change emotional venture. The fleet was ok. Poe was ok. Everything was fine. He thought back to Lexevan's parting words.

Wait.

The Commander's _what!?_

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by this tumblr text post by user forestbucky:  
> poedamerontrashcaneron dot tumblr dot com/post/136787060353/
> 
> Used with permission. You should totally follow both of us, too.


End file.
